Call Me Terra
by TerraBane
Summary: This is a story that is coming to me one bit at a time, don't know what's up yet. It's based around 2 barmaids from The Prancing Pony, in movieverse. I've read the books, I promise. Please tell me what you think about what little i have.


"Call me Terra."

She stood there in front of him, in her basic barmaid's dress. She was in a dirty white chemise, her dark purple lace-up vest and her dark green skirt. Underneath her skirt she had on boots. True, they weren't very lady-like, but girl's slippers didn't leave a dent on an over-zealous man's foot like her boots could. Her skirt was long enough to hide them, mostly, and it wasn't like people would be looking down at her feet. Her medium-length light brown hair was held back by a dark purple scarf that had been made from the same fabric as her vest. She had a braid of hair not held back by the scarf, and that was swinging slightly over her left cheek every time she moved. Which, since at this moment she was getting really fidgety, was a lot.

Aragorn tilted his head to the side slightly, looking at her. "Terra? Hm. That is a very... grounded name. Now, back to the topic at hand. Do you have the ale I called for?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, one second!" Terra turned around and promptly crashed into the other barmaid who was bringing Aragorn's ale. A yelp, a splash, and multiple clatters later, two barmaids were tumbled together on the floor, surrounded by overturned chairs and soaked in alcohol. The room hushed as all faces turned to the spill, then laughter broke out through the crowd. Terra, who had turned a bright red, fumbled around trying to extricate herself from the mess. She stood up, apologized to everyone in the immediate vicinity, which only made them laugh more, picked up chairs and placed them back in their proper spots, only to knock them over again when she tried to pick up more. All the while, Aragorn was sitting there, wiping some of his ale off his legs and trying hard not to laugh himself. He felt bad for wanting to laugh, but nothing relieved tension like a little mess.

Finally, after a lot of mistakes, Terra and her companion barmaid were able to get the chairs up again. The crowd went back to their former state of selective blindness, ignoring them completely. The other barmaid stayed to wipe up the mess still left on the floor, while Terra ran back to the bar to get Aragorn more ale. After bumping into three more customers and forcibly held still for a moment to calm down by the barkeep, she returned slowly and carefully, holding the new tankard with both hands gingerly, as if it were going to explode if jostled. She stopped by his table and gingerly set the tankard down, then folded her hands in her lap, took a deep breath, and bowed.

"I am very sorry sir, please forgive me. Here's your ale, on the house. Please forgive my clumsiness." Even without looking, Aragorn could tell that she was afraid of being hit for being clumsy. Apparently not everyone around here was very forgiving of mistakes.

Aragorn took a deep breath, and leaned forward toward her, speaking quietly. "Terra, you said your name was? Do not worry, I do not blame you. And it's nothing to apologize for; even the best of us make mistakes." He reached out and lifted her head up, looking into her eyes. At this moment he'd let her think whatever she wanted if it made this situation get fixed without any fuss. There were too many eyes watching for him and for the people _he_ was searching for to risk more commotion than necessary.

Terra stared at him, thoughts racing through her head. He was so much nicer than _some_ people, even if he looked the worst dress-wise. She stared back into his eyes, getting lost slightly in their depths. They seemed to convey so many things at once, none of them clearly defined. If she could just keep looking..

A customer shuffling past who gave her a grope woke her up from her daydream. She nodded once, thanked him again, and hurriedly excused herself. Aragorn watched her go, noting the fact that her cheeks had not once since the spill lost their embarrassed red hue.

His reflections were interrupted by four small men, no, four hobbits, walking into the room. Even with all the noise of the other customers, he could just barely hear the barkeep speak to them.

"Ah, Mr. Underhill, it's nice to finally put a name to a face, or rather, a face to the name. _He _told me so much about you. And I do hope the reverse applies. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Butterbur."

Ah yes, Mr. Underhill was finally here.

Terra walked back behind the bar, sighing to herself quietly. A nice customer, and such pretty eyes to boot. Too bad he'd probably be gone by morning; he was a Ranger after all. Butterbur had warned her and Alicia, the other barmaid, about him as soon as he had walked in. Butterbur hadn't trusted him, most probably because he didn't socialize and didn't have much chance for baths. Terra didn't mind; as she had said, he was a nice customer. They were hard to come by.

An arm reached up from under the bar and dragged her down with a yelp. After bumping her head on the bar on the way down, Terra opened her eyes to see Alicia huddled there, holding tight onto her sleeve. Her friend wore generally what she did, it was their normal outfits. Her white chemise was topped off with an embroidered vest, black with red roses, twined together with their green leaves and stems. It was all her work; she was very talented at that sort of thing. Her skirt was basically the same red as the roses on her vest, and the sash she'd tied around her waist was a match to the rose's stems. And of course, her boots. She wore an eclectic assortment of bracelets, so that every time she moved there was a soft jingling sound.

"Tristan is here again," she hissed quietly to her friend.

Terra gasped, quickly covering her mouth to shush herself. Dear Lords, not Tristan. Butterbur was a good man, he had one of safest bars in the town, but he couldn't stop all the problems. Tristan and his gang were the authors of most of the trouble that happened around here. And what's worse, he'd taken a fancy to Alicia. He insisted that Alicia serve him personally when he was there, him and only him. That left Terra working the whole rest of the room, and too swamped with surly customers to be able to help her friend.

Butterbur leaned over the railing, looking down wondering at the two barmaids huddled there. The beer-soaked girls stared up at him guiltily. He blinked a few times, laughed a little to himself, then stood back up and walked around the bar and picked them both up.

"Now girls, I know it's crowded tonight, but please, don't hide out here, it'll only get worse, mark my words. Now clean up a little, and then scramble along. Go see if those nice hobbits I was just talkin' to would want a drink."

Alicia and Terra stood still, looking at each other for a moment. Tristan was bad, yes, but they could get through this. And if Alicia could keep him happy for a while, he wouldn't cause more trouble for them. One last glance, then they nodded, brushed their skirts down, and headed back out into the commons.


End file.
